


to see the break of dawn

by impossibletruths



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Campaign 1 (Critical Role), Everybody Lives, Families of Choice, Fix-It, Minor Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III/Vex'ahlia, Minor Pike Trickfoot/Scanlan Shorthalt, Multi, Post-Canon, Reunions, They deserve a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 21:29:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14602092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossibletruths/pseuds/impossibletruths
Summary: In another world She is kinder, or crueler, and he is given his time to live.Or, after everything, Vax comes home.





	to see the break of dawn

**Author's Note:**

> catch me showing up six months late with everybody lives fix-it fic like the sucker I am. massive spoilers for campaign one.

In another world, he stands naked and small before Her, and She kisses his forehead with the softness of a lover, and She says,  _You have done well, my Champion. You have proven yourself. You have passed._

In another world, he arrives in Zephrah on a cold spring morning, and the last of the snowdrops hang heavy-headed in the garden. He does not know how he got here, does not remember the trip, but the armor smells like lavender and the house smells like woodsmoke and is just as he remembers it, unadorned and a little wind-battered. The door swings open silently at his touch, and she is there, glowing in the light of the fire. She does not notice him; he drinks her in.

“Kiki,” he says, hoarse.

In another world, she looks at him and drops the vial she is holding, and once the fire is out she stands with him in front of her still-smoking house, holds him tight enough to bruise, and he cards his hands through his hair and murmurs his apologies like a prayer.

In another world, he comes home.

* * *

Whitestone glows. 

They step through the tree, and the city is more beautiful than he can ever remember, glittering like alabaster in the noontide sun, and she does not let go of his hand as they wind through the streets, as they pass through the walls and make the long walk up to the castle, perched halfway up the mountain like a jewel set in a endless ripple of green cloth. The slow bloom of spring suits the city well; the few faint patches of snow dapple the earth, and green grass pokes through with the promise of warmth and of life, always life, coming back and back and back again.

The lord and lady of Whitestone are taking tea when they arrive, and Keyleth blows through the doors like a summer storm, and Percy stands indignant at the intrusion and his sister–– his sister––

_Stubby_ , he wants to say. He wants to say,  _Vex’ahlia, Vex’ahlia, my sister, my best friend, my heart._  He wants to say,  _Gods, gods, I’m so sorry._

There are many things he would say, but they catch in his throat, choke him as sure as any blood-drenched prayer. He has never seen her look so old.

“Good gods,” says Percy, his voice far, far away. He cannot look at the man; he has eyes only for his sister. “What––”

“I don’t know,” Keyleth murmurs. “He just–– I don’t know.”

Across the room, she says, “Vax.”

The room is too large; it takes him too long to reach her, to step up to her, to hesitate when she brings a hand up to brush against the panes of his face. Her fingers shake. 

She says, quietly, almost to herself. “I don’t believe it.”

He wets his lips, and tells her, “Me neither.”

“Is this real?”

“I think so.”

“You think?”

“It’s a little hard to tell with the gods, you know.”

She stares at him a moment longer, and then punches him square in the chest. “You asshole.”

“Ow!”

“You  _died_!” She’s crying now, tears down her face, and that hurts far more than the blow. Her hands fist against the leather of the armor, the armor he is still wearing because he came to her first, immediately. “You  _left_ me!”

“I know, I know,” he says, because it is all he can say. “I know, I’m sorry, Vex, I’m sorry.” He wraps his arms around her and she lets him, all tucked against his chest, and then somehow they are on their knees, and he is holding her as tight as he can, as though he could press himself back into her, become whole again.

At some point, he thinks, the others leave. He does not notice. He has his sister. That is world enough for him.

* * *

“Well,” says his brother-in-law when they emerge, Vex peeling away to speak with Keyleth and leaving the two of them alone. He does not miss the girls' glance as they go, halfway a question, but he does not stop their exit as Percy speaks. “This is rather unexpected.”

Percival has always had a certain way with words. An artistry, one might say. A certain panache.

“Yeah,” he replies, lip quirking. “I know.”

“Did you, ah...”

“Know?”

Percy tilts his head, assessing. “Yes.”

“No.”

“Mmm.”

Percy's eyes do not waver, and under the pressure of the man’s gaze he offers, “I might have hoped, but. I never thought anything would come of it.”

“Yes, I understand.” He rather looks like he does, lips pressed tight together, eyes narrow. Then, suddenly, “Is it something we need to talk about?”

“What?”

“This martyr complex of yours.”

He laughs. He can’t help it; it’s so very  _Percy_. To call him out for that which he would do just as willingly. Gods, but he has missed the man. “It’s alright.”

“Because if you do something like that to her again––”

He sobers immediately. “I know,” he says, just as serious, and he cannot even bring himself to mind the unsubtle ultimatum behind the words. He would want nothing else. “I wouldn’t.”

“You said that the first time.”

There is a sharpness to Percy’s voice he does not altogether like; it conjures hesitation in his answer. “I did it for her the first time. For all of you.”

“We could have fixed it,” Percy replies, unflinching.

His eyes are hard. It makes him look young, the uncertain and angry boy he was when they found him. He has grown beyond that now; it is a sorrow to see him so sharp again because of him, because of this.

He sets his hand against the man’s cheek, and his cold eyes soften. Dear, dear Percival. Still seeking to piece everything back together until it works again. There is something hopeful about such stubbornness, such dedication to creating where once there was nothing but brokenness. Whitestone is ready for a lord who wishes only to make. The whole of the world is. He is happy anew for his sister, for their family. For their ever after.

“It is fixed,” he says, quiet and certain and full of a promised lifetime of hope. “Some stories do end happily, Freddie.”

Percy takes a shuddering sigh and closes his eyes, and says, “I suppose they must. Statistically.”

He laughs, and pats the man’s cheek, and his heart thrills at the way Percy squints and bats his hand away and smiles.

“Statically,” he returns, “we earned it.”

Percy laughs.

* * *

When he leaves Percy behind, finally, he finds the rest of his family waiting, called forth and shepherded from tree to tree by Keyleth sometime during his conversation with the lord of Whitestone. Scanlan is crying, and doing a poor job of hiding it. Pike smiles bright as the sun at his side. And Grog––

Grog has something of the rainclouds about him, as though he cannot decide if he wants to storm or let through the light. The sight plucks at the thread of guilt in his heart, and so he approaches the goliath first.

“Take a walk, big man?” he asks, and Grog stares down at him a long, long minute. He waits.

“Alright,” he says, finally, and they take their leave. He catches sight of Keyleth's arms folding around Percy as Scanlan turns inside, and then they round the corner toward the gardens and the whole of his little family disappears from view.

The castle grounds are a maze he has never quite managed to learn, but with Grog at his side he does not overly mind the prospect of getting lost. They walk in silence, Grog a heavy presence looming above, all his focus directed straight ahead as they wind through the gardens.

“‘S good to see you,” he says when it becomes clear that Grog will not speak first. The goliath glances down at him, finally, and frowns.

“You died,” he replies, blunt as ever, and it is far more heartwarming than it has any right to be. “I thought you couldn’t come back.”

"It’s a little complicated, big guy.”

“Explain it,” he orders, unwavering.

His words stutter a little as he lays it out as best he can. They pass by a bed of brilliant poppies as he speaks. “You’re right––I couldn’t. You couldn’t bring me back. No one could. I made a promise. But, ah. She sent me.”

Grog stops walking so that he can stare down at him for a long, long moment, face inscrutable. “The Raven Queen?”

“Yeah.”

He mulls that over, then shrugs and starts walking again. “Doesn’t sound too complicated.”

“No?”

“You’re here now, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“You’re staying?”

“As long as you’ll have me.”

Grog nods once, satisfied. “Good.”

“I’m sorry,” he offers, because he feels he should. Grog shrugs.

“Nah. ‘S what happens.” His brow furrows again. “This mean we can go camping like you promised?”

“Of course, big guy,” he replies, reaching bumping his closed fist against the goliath’s enormous arm, swallowing back the lump in his throat. “Of course we can.”

“Good,” grins Grog. “That’s good. You owe me.”

“I know,” he replies. Owes him far more than a handful of camping trips, more than a few drinks, more than a fight or two. He expects he shall spend a long, long time attempting to pay back what he owes the goliath. What he owes all of them. 

But that is a question for tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, and all the time that stretches before him.

Grog nods again and keeps walking, without looking back. He walks along at his side, content to spend the time here, halfway in Grog’s shadow. He never thought he’d miss it.

Eventually they return to the front courtyard, and he is oddly unsurprised to find the goliath has led them here without hesitating once.

* * *

Scanlan and Pike have settled in one of the sitting rooms by the time they get back. Grog ducks out, makes mention of finding food and leaves him with the gnomes. He hovers in the doorway and waits for them to notice him.

“Oh, come in,” says Pike. She stands with one last look at Scanlan, and turns to leave. They pass each other as he enters.

“Hey Pickle,” he tells her. She grins wide as the sky.

“Hey yourself, Stringbean.”

“How is he?”

“Oh, he’s okay. You should talk to him.”

He hesitates. “Will you...?”

“I’ll be outside,” she says, and tugs him down to press a kiss to his cheek. “Welcome back, Vax.”

Then she is gone, and he is left alone with Scanlan. The man sits on a couch, folded in on himself and doesn’t look up, not even when the couch shifts as he sits.

“Hey,” he says. Scanlan stares resolutely at the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I tried–– I did, I swear––”

“Hey,” he interrupts before Scanlan can get started. “It’s alright.”

“Pretty shit way to end things,” Scanlan says, toes scuffing the floor. “Gone for a year and then suddenly you’re dead.”

“Probably could have been better, yeah,” he says. “Or worse. Hard to tell in the moment.”

Scanlan snorts, a little damp. “I was an ass.”

“We were all asses. Don’t take all the credit.”

Scanlan shakes his head and looks up, uncharacteristically quiet. His hands fist in the fabric of his pants, and his eyes are still red. “How are you so fine with this?”

“I’m back with you,” he replies without needing to think. “It’s more than I ever imagined.” He cannot find words for the welling gratitude, so he does not try. Instead he leans over and taps the top of Scanlan’s head, just once. “So why the long face, Shorthalt?”

“Not fair,” he says. “You can’t come back from the dead and call me on my shit.”

“Taking a leaf from your book.”

“Well, take a different leaf.”

He laughs, and Scanlan grins, a little shaky but that familiar shit-eating smile, and the world slots into place around him. He bumps against Scanlan’s shoulder.

“Missed you.”

“I didn’t even notice,” Scanlan replies, but his eyes are shining, and a moment later he ruins it by adding, “I love you, Vax.”

“Love you too. And don’t you ever, ever be sorry, alright? I wouldn’t change a single thing. Not one.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright.”

“Good.”

They sit there in silence a long while, the air between them clear and uncluttered, and he breathes easy for the clarity. Pike finds them like eventually, poking her head into the door. She looks between them as though she knows something they do not, and he can’t fault her for it. She has always had the sharpest eyes when it comes to matters of the heart.

“Better?” she asks. Scanlan sighs.

“Yes,” he says, a little mopey, and Pike laughs.

“I told you so,” she says. Then, “Food is ready, if you’re hungry.”

“Is it vegetarian?”

“Yes, Scanlan.”

“Well, you can never be sure with these people.” He hops off the couch, then turns back, and already vibrancy begins to bleed back into his countenance. “Coming, Vax?”

“Yeah,” he says, suddenly ravenous. “Yeah, I could eat.”

“It’s only been about six months,” Scanlan says cheerfully. “Maybe a light snack.”

He laughs, and follows them out of the room, old heartache fading as they walk together, whole again.

* * *

Pike is the last one to corner him, following a rowdy lunch filled with slightly too many sideways glances for his comfort. They sit together in the parchwood, nothing but the two of  them and a loving-grown wooden bench. Only then does he finally voice his quiet, deep-rooted fear. Hers are the only ears around to hear his question, and she does not hesitate to answer it. 

“I don’t think it’s wrong,” she says. “If She sent you. I don’t think it’s wrong at all.”

“Do they?” he asks, uncertain now, and she looks at him sideways, and her eyes are almost unbearably soft. “Do they think it’s wrong?”

“No,” she says, quiet and firm. “I don’t know if they know what to make of it. But they don’t think that.”

He considers his response, and settles on, “It’s a little weird.” His lip quirks at the end, an admission, and a smile blooms across her face.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “But we’ve always been weird.”

It’s funny how she always makes him feel lighter inside, even when she only says things he already knows.

For a moment they sit in silence, then he bumps against her shoulder. “C’mere,” he says. “I’ll fix your hair.”

“Okay,” she grins, already turning around, and he cards his fingers through her hair, a little long and stark white still, just as it has been these past three years. The strands slide between his fingers as he carefully twists them up into a simple bun. She sighs, leaning into it ever so slightly.

“I’m glad,” she says, quiet enough that the forest almost swallows the words before he can make them out. “I’m glad She sent you back.”

“Yeah,” he says, her hair in his hands, his eyes damp, a lump in his throat. “Yeah, me too.”

Afterward she presses a kiss to his forehead, and it is as much a benediction as anything She has given him, and he feels unbearably light as they walk back to the castle to find the rest of their family waiting for them.

* * *

“We’ll come back,” Keyleth promises eventually, when they are finally ready to leave. Vex holds her face in both hands and smiles.

“I know,” she says. “You are always welcome here.”

“And you at Zephrah,” she replies, every inch the leader of her people. Percy stands at his sister’s side, and Pike and Scanlan just next to them, and Grog towering over everyone. It is a spring day like any other, a little grey and a little cold, and his heart, he thinks, has never been so full.

“I will never be far,” he says, when it is his turn to say his goodbyes, and Vex punches him in the shoulder, gentle enough to be fond, hard enough to be a warning.

“You’d better not,” she says, and she does not protest when he wraps her in his arms and presses a kiss to her temple.

“I love you,” he murmurs, and her fingers press tight against his back.

“I love you too,” she mumbles, voice a little thick. “Idiot.”

“Your idiot, though,” he says, and she hits his chest and laughs, and when they part their eyes are only a little damp.

“Travel safe,” says Scanlan, and Keyleth, halfway through the tree, says, “Oh, well, it's not––”

And then they are through, and the bark closes behind them, and he is home.

* * *

She says she has a last thing to show him, and takes him to the shrine in the early hours of the morning.

“It felt... right,” she says as he brushes his fingers against the raven feather pressed into the sapling. The wind whistles behind him, howls a prayer to the cycles of the world, to life and death and life again. He breathes deep, breathes it all in, knees digging into damp-fresh earth. Heavy buds weigh down the bare branches; it will be green soon, full with the warmth of summer.

“Thank you,” he says. Her hand is warm against his back, perfectly fit against the burn she left, the mark of her he carries with him. “I know how you... feel about them. About Her. Thank you.”

“It felt right,” she repeats. He reaches blindly over his shoulder for her hand and she lends him it, fingers warm where they lace through his own. The rising sun throws their shadows before them, narrow and sharp, and he thinks he sees the afterimage of feathers in the dark.

“Now what?” he asks, and she tugs him up, tugs him around. She is all fire with the light of the morning sun shining through the red of her hair, and when she kisses him it is not unlike kissing Her. She is grander than him, than he can ever be.

“I don’t know,” she tells him. Her hand is warm in his. “I guess we figure it out.”

“Okay,” he says. He wets his lips, and he says, “Okay.”

The morning sun is warm; it chases away the lingering chill in his bones. There will be time enough for Her in the years to come, for Her deeds and Her words and Her purpose. All men return to Her eventually. But that is later.

Right now, he is going to live.


End file.
